The World Beneath

Chapter 10

Joe ran, arms close to his sides so that they didn’t strike the train or the tunnel. The screech of metal on metal as the train braked scraped every nerve in his body. If he’d dared to raise his hands, he would have clapped them over his ears.

Silver cars whizzed by close enough to touch. The smell of metal and electricity urged him on.

Light bloomed ahead. The train slowed.

A platform.

The train arrived ahead of him, stopping with a jerk. Joe threw a glance over his shoulder. He jumped across the third rail, ducked past a pillar, and reached the stairs that led to the platform opposite where the train had stopped. Edison tore up the stairs ahead of him.

A few passengers stood waiting for the next train. Joe barreled past them and up toward the terminal itself. He and Edison didn’t stop running until they reached the lobby of the Hyatt.

Once there, he stopped. Sweat soaked his shirt. His heart pounded, and he could not stop shaking. The screech and thunder of the train still rang in his ears. He had almost died down there. A single stumble would have killed him.

Frederick, the concierge, hurried over. “Mr. Tesla, are you all right?”

“I’ll be fine,” Joe said.

“Let’s sit down.”

Frederick led him to his regular chair by the Starbucks stand. Tiffany was setting up for the start of her day, loading a tray full of pastries into the glass display case. Her eyes widened when she saw him.

Joe sat and examined Edison, running his hands along the dog’s body from head to tail. He was uninjured physically, but the usually mellow dog pressed against Joe’s legs, back bowed with fear.

“It’s OK, Edison,” he said. “It was close, but we’re OK.”

Edison nosed his head between Joe’s leg and the chair, and Joe petted his back.

Tiffany pressed a warm cup into his hand. “Chamomile. It’s calming.”

He realized that they thought he’d had another panic attack. They’d seen him have enough of them as he’d tried over and over again to leave the hotel by the front door. But this time his danger was external.

He took a slow sip of tea, then pulled his cell phone from its special pocket. His hands shook so that he could not dial.

Another sip of tea. A round of deep breaths. He was an expert in recovering from moments when he expected to die. The surprise gift of his panic attacks: They had prepared him to deal with real panic.

“Thanks,” he said. “We’re OK.”

Tiffany and Frederick left him alone. He closed his eyes, willing his breathing to slow, his heart to calm.

He started to dial 911, but stopped before he pressed the Send button. In his current state, they’d never believe him. Even if they did, they’d drag him down to their offices to question him. He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t go outside.

Instead, he called his lawyer, Daniel Rossi. Daniel answered immediately, one of the perks of his Pellucid money.

“There’s a situation down in the tunnels.”

“A situation?” said Daniel. He sounded as if he’d been up for hours.

Joe quietly described everything that had happened, keeping an eye on the nearly empty lobby in case someone might overhear.

“Stay there,” Daniel said. “I’ll take care of this. For the love of God, don’t talk to a single solitary other person about this until I get there.”

He hung up.

Joe fed Edison a treat and finished his tea, feeling his heartbeat slow. He was safe. It was OK. Tiffany and Frederick watched him, but they didn’t seem too worried. He guessed that was one advantage of cracking up regularly in their lobby.

His phone rang. Celeste. He hoped it wasn’t her nurse, Patty, with bad news.

“Joe,” he answered, holding his breath until he heard her voice.

“Good morning!” She sounded breathless, as if she had been the one running instead of him.

“You’re up early.” She never called before ten.

“A little bird told me that you’re in trouble.”

“How?” He’d barely even hung up on Daniel, and he trusted the attorney.

“I know people who know people,” she said.

“Daniel?” he asked.

She laughed. “He would never betray a client. And I would never betray a source.”

How much should he tell her? She had enough to worry about. He needed to protect her. “I found something weird.”

“A partial truth,” she said.

“Are you having a strong day?” Distraction might work.

“Neutral,” she said. “Zero.”

“Black,” he answered automatically. “Like the ocean at night.”

“I like that,” she said. “I’d paint that if I could.”

“It’d be beautiful.”

She let out her breath in what now constituted a laugh. “Are you going to hack into God knows where and put up black waves, like the seagull?”

“Do you want me to?” As soon as he finished meeting with Daniel.

“Not this time,” she said. “Let’s keep it just between us. A secret. Speaking of—”

A hand touched his shoulder, and he jumped.

“Just me.” Daniel held up his hands in mock surrender. “Please tell me that’s not the police.”

“I gotta go, Celeste.” He hung up, hoping that she hadn’t heard Daniel’s words.

Daniel smoothed back his unkempt hair. He looked as if he’d run the whole way. “Have you talked to anyone else? What did you tell Celeste?”

“That I found something weird. That’s all,” Joe said. “Shouldn’t I talk to the police, tell them, too?”

“Under no circumstances.”

“There’s a dead man,” Joe said. “And I was chased by a guy with a gun. Serious stuff.”

“I understood that from your call and relayed the information to Mr. Goldstone from our criminal division,” his lawyer said. “He’ll pass those details along.”

“I don’t have anything to hide.” Joe stroked Edison’s floppy ears. They were both much calmer.

“The first rule of a criminal attorney is that you never let your client talk to the police.” Daniel fiddled with his shirt cuffs. “Ever.”

“I’m not a criminal, and you’re not a criminal lawyer.”

“You hired me to give you advice. I can tell you right now that it’s never in your best interest to talk to the police. Remember how they say ‘anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law’?”

“So?”

“Notice how they don’t say it can be used for you?” Daniel’s voice was low and conversational. No one in the lobby so much as glanced at them. “Mr. Goldstone will report the crime and keep your name confidential.”

Joe had been raised in a circus, and it had been drilled into him that he could never trust the police, that people in authority would always rule against you. Maybe the old rules were right. Maybe his time in the world of pure numbers had made him naïve.

“You said on the phone that you can’t give the police a description because you never saw him and that you can’t identify his voice because he was whispering. There is nothing you can tell them that will help you, and a lot that could harm you.”

Joe had to agree.